


El Bendicion del San Joaquin (St. Joachim’s Blessing)

by Messalla



Category: Narcos: Mexico (TV)
Genre: Anal, I mean no disrespect to the real people portrayed or to the prayers being featured, I'm so sorry, Kissing, M/M, Roman Catholic prayers, cartel life, handjobs, this story is primarily inspired by the actors of the series, very religious guys, when “praying” takes a whole new meaning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29215653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messalla/pseuds/Messalla
Summary: Cochiloco knew it was the end. But before the bullets blew the life out of him, the last person on his mind was Chapo.
Relationships: Chapo/Cochiloco
Kudos: 9





	El Bendicion del San Joaquin (St. Joachim’s Blessing)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Cochiloco’s appearance is based on Andres Almeida’s character in the Mexican series Diablo Guardian. Just the close-up tho. I mean, it’s the same actor but we can’t see his face clearly in Narcos:Mexico. 😅
> 
> 2\. In this story, we use the following real-life facts:
> 
> \- Cochi wasn’t killed on 1986 by the Arellano brothers on Felix Gallardo’s approval. Rather, he was executed on 1991 by the Medellin Cartel. He had a wife and kids and used many aliases, one of which is "Pedro Orozco Garcia".
> 
> \- Chapo is a nephew of Pedro Aviles Perez and was trained by him in the weed business. 
> 
> \- Miguel Angel continued to direct the business while in prison until authorities transferred him to a more secure location. He never betrayed Don Neto or Rafa nor did he have Hector Palma’s wife and kids assassinated (that was the doing of the Arellano Felix Organization).
> 
> 3\. Most prayers featured are not the direct English versions but English translations of the Spanish versions.
> 
> 4\. Inspirational soundtrack: “Yo soy el mismo” by Antonio Aguilar (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ls1kCXtWiqg)

He was supposed to be a priest. Or so his mother used to say. She taught him to memorize his prayers word for word from the time he learned how to speak. But when he grew up, he refused to enter the seminary and became a _sicario_ instead, an assassin baptized by the blood of countless victims.

For that, she called him _Cochiloco,_ crazy pig, damn fucking swine cast away by God and possessed by the Devil. He simply laughed at the nickname and moved along. To him, faith was nothing more than a waste of time.

So when Chapo gave him a scapular necklace of Jesús Malverde, he simply wore the thing and didn’t think much about it. Clumsy as he was, he immediately lost the pendant. But he didn’t want to offend his friend so he secretly bought another one.

He got shot on the leg.

Later that afternoon, he limped back into the Aviles’ villa, his pants dripping blood on the boss’ carpet. After his bitching about the scapular’s uselessness, Chapo merely chuckled in response and said,

“It’s because you have no faith, Cochi. Not even God can help you if you don’t believe in him.”

He flashed a toothy smile and said, “Who told you that? Your mom?”

Chapo merely shook his head in defeat, dipped a clean cloth on the basin of warm water, and gestured at Cochi to take off his pants. He grinned in triumph as he did so, cocky as he always was whenever he thought he won the argument. Chapo didn’t say a word and started to clean the wound. All of a sudden, there was a loud slap on the injured leg and Cochi howled in pain,

“You fucking asshole!”

The little fucker laughed at his misery but proceeded to help anyway. Later, the bullet was finally taken out and the wound was disinfected and nicely bandaged. Then Chapo handed him a new scapular, this time of the Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. And he said in a semi-serious tone,

“Take it. Gotta help you with your love life to get that frown off your face.”

“Says the guy who had never fucked anyone in his life,” Cochi retorted.

Chapo suddenly clamped a hand on Cochi’s mouth, his cheeks turning into a pretty shade of red. And Cochi was so caught off guard by the sight that he was unable to brace himself.

They fell onto the floor along with the basin and the grimy water. The carpet was now beyond recognition and the boss would later scold the both of them for it. Cochi’s wound started to bleed again but he kept laughing, his hand clutching the Holy Virgin’s prudish face.

Through the years, many scapulars came and went on Cochi’s hands, rosaries, crucifixes, medallions, all things holy that were supposed to prolong his life, shield him from the enemy’s knives and bullets. He still didn’t believe that they did anything but he wore them at Chapo’s behest.

In time, he started to believe that his friend was a secret saint, some divine medium sent by God to remind Cochi of his religious origins. Every time they were together, they mostly prayed. And like a miracle, Chapo’s presence made the _oraciones_ a lot more interesting than he remembered them to be.

Having Chapo by his side, Cochi’s life was filled with little parcels of happiness, small gestures of affection that brought him closer and closer to God. So despite the hellish world all around him, he felt that he had lived his life to the fullest and that his soul was already saved – he could die at any moment without regrets.

On the 9th of October 1991, Cochi returned to Jalisco despite his bodyguard’s protests. It’s been a while but it’s still risky, the man told him. Cochi dismissed such doubts and simply fingered the pendant on his chest, the medallion of San Joaquin. The metal was cold against his skin, but touching it gave him a sense of serenity, a feeling that he had already fulfilled his life’s mission.

All of a sudden, the vehicles on his front, left and back suddenly stopped and trapped him onto a corner. At that moment, he knew it was the end. So, he made a sign of the cross and brought the pendant to his lips.

The bullets ripped through the car and into his body. But he didn’t mind the pain because all his thoughts were of Chapo, of the proud smile on his face when he finally saw their restaurant’s blueprint, of the confused look on his face when he sampled the food. He was so quiet that Cochi had to ask,

_“It’s bad, isn’t it?”_

Chapo’s face was scrunched and he eyed Cochi’s lobster _chilaquiles_ suspiciously. But when he turned to his friend, his face softened and he told him gently, _“It’s good, it’s good. A little too burnt but you’re getting there.”_

And Cochi laughed, placed an arm around Chapo’s shoulders, and kissed the side of his face. _“You always know how to make me feel better even when I fuck up. Especially when I fuck up.”_

Chapo simply shrugged and drank some beer to wash off the taste.

Without his knowing, Cochi’s fingers grazed on Chapo’s cheek, a very gentle caress as though his friend was a delicate treasure and not the seasoned hitman that he really was. Cochi never touched anyone this way, not even the women he fucked. And when he said the words, he knew that it was from the heart and not his usual bullshit,

“ _I love you, man.”_

A couple of bullets pierced Cochi’s skull but it didn’t matter. His heart remained happy and content as he remembered Chapo’s reply one last time,

_“I love you too.”_

* * *

He met him at the wet market of Culiacan, a sturdy boy of eighteen a few inches too short for his age. Their eyes met for a moment before Cochi turned his back. But the wind blew off his hat and the lad had caught it, plucked it mid-air with a quiet grace that Cochi would always remember him by.

The kid left the boxes of oranges he was carrying to return the thing to its owner. But before he could reach Cochi, an older man came up and bellowed, “Joaquin! Who told you to leave the merchandise on the ground, you fucking brat!”

Cochi recoiled at the blows that soon followed, the small “I’m sorry, ‘Pa”, the bloody pistol gleaming in the sunlight as a warning. Cochi left his hat on the ground that day and swore that he would never wear another one ever again.

The next day, Cochi decided to see what became of the poor kid. It was still too early when he arrived but the Guzmans have already closed shop. On a corner, there was a pickup. When Cochi looked hard enough, there was the lad on the driver’s seat, glaring at his old man who had passed out in his drunkenness.

Cochi should have left them alone, but as fate would have it, he knocked on the half-open window, and pretended to ask for something. “You have anything left?”

“Sorry, sir, but we’re sold out,” the kid answered.

Cochi saw the black eye on the right side of his face, his lower lip still bruised and swollen from yesterday’s beating. He looked shaken but okay. Cochi also saw the box of fruits on the older Guzman’s lap. He was suddenly hit by an urge to eat something citrus-y, so he pointed at it and asked, “How about that one?”

The boy realized what he had been asking for and sheepishly said, “Oh yeah, the oranges. How many?”

Cochi chuckled in understanding and answered, “All of it.”

A few days later, they met each other again, this time on the Aviles’ mansion. Pedro introduced them briefly, “Cochi, this is my maternal nephew Joaquin Archivaldo, Maria Consuelo’s eldest son. _Chapo,_ this is my paternal cousin Juan Manuel _Cochiloco_.”

It was a cold Sunday morning and the boss looked grumpier than usual. Most of the boys were tense as well, but Cochi felt so light and dreamy for no reason. At that time, he wondered if he was in a telenovela where the characters met in some fancy place. Pedro’s garden did look fancy with the flowers and the fountains and all that shit.

Later in his life, he would remember that moment again and again, the sweet scent of honeysuckle and _yucca_ flowers, the yellow butterfly that had landed on Chapo’s hair, small memories that always made him feel better on a bad day.

“I want you to teach that scumbag a lesson,” Pedro was referring to one distributor who got too cocky, “so plant as many bullets as you can on the fucker’s face.” The boss’ teeth clenched even further as he emphasized, “You hear me? As many fucking bullets as you can.”

Cochi merely nodded and said, “Got it, _primo_.”

Pedro nodded back, pleased but still pissed, and said, “Chapo, you know the address, you drive him there.” The boss turned back to him and said, “When you’re finished, Cochi, guide the boy with the deliveries. Now, get out, both of you.”

As they sped off to their destination, Cochi tried to be friendly and said, “So, _Chapito,_ first day on the job, eh?”

The kid gave him a shy nod.

“Not selling ‘oranges’ anymore?” Cochi teased, his eyes catching the tiny crucifix on the younger man’s neck, the fading bruises on his eye and cheek and a new one blossoming on his jaw.

“Dad kicked me out,” Chapo replied. “Still have to feed my mom and siblings though. Old man doesn’t give a shit.”

Cochi hummed to that and said, “At least you still have them all, your mom, your brothers and sisters, your dad.”

At the very mention of that last word, Chapo’s shoulders tensed, his lips clamped together to control his anger.

He knew he was being nosy, but Cochi said softly, “Even assholes are precious, you know. You think you hate them, you want to kill them. But in the end, you still miss ‘em when they’re gone.”

Chapo turned to him, his eyes full of sympathy despite not knowing anything.

Cochi felt that deep in his bone, but he simply sighed and said, “Eyes on the road, _plebito_.”

The hit was uneventful, the target got loaded with multiple rounds on his face just as the boss wanted. Cochi felt sorry for the bullets, all their firepower wasted on just one head. But there was nothing he could do about it so he just turned on the radio and sang along. On the corner of his eye, he saw the small smile on Chapo’s face so he sang louder even though he was out of tune.

After leaving the scene, they delivered the weed and got cash, guns and ammo on the way back. They finished the job too quickly so Cochi sent the boys ahead, took Chapo aside, and suggested they go for a drink with some girls for company.

“Come on, kid. My treat. Everyone knows that the best babes are in Mazatlan, the juiciest chicks in Sinaloa. I’ll introduce you to Nena, my favorite girl. Maybe she’ll give you a freebie.”

To his amusement, Chapo shook his head and said, “Thanks, man, but I can’t. I’m saving myself for marriage.”

“What the fuck!” Cochi guffawed. He gave the kid such a stare that Chapo turned his face down in embarrassment. Cochi whistled and said, “Devoted man, eh? You’re a living saint, _compa_. Who’s the lucky girl, by the way? Let me guess – Anna?”

Chapo shook his head.

“Alejandra?”

“Almost there.”

Cochi’s brows furrowed. “Aleja?”

“Alejandrina,” Chapo told him, a faint blush rising on his face. Cochi suddenly had the urge to pinch those cheeks, but at that moment, he was reminded of that same occurrence in the past, bitter memories best left forgotten. So he held himself back and opted to squeeze the pistol on his hip.

“I would have married her already,” Chapo continued, “but I don’t have the money for the wedding. And with this situation with my family, I have to work double time to be with her.”

“Tough life,” Cochi mumbled. “So you haven’t fucked anyone at all?”

Chapo’s blush deepened even more so Cochi slapped the kid’s shoulder and told him, “You better earn that money fast or you’ll be missing the best of God’s gifts – tits, ass, and that sweet thing between a woman’s legs.”

The kid looked down, his blush never fading. Cochi chuckled at that and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “But if you ever decide that you want some action before the big day, just say the word and I’ll help you out. Your girl will never know.”

In the end, they skipped the ladies and the beer. Cochi bought a bagful of _mamey_ instead and they ate it together under the golden sun. On their way home, they stopped by a stall and Chapo bought Cochi a present in return, a scapular of Jesús Malverde.

“To protect you,” Chapo told him.

“I can protect myself just fine,” Cochi laughed. But he took the scapular just the same and wore it on his neck.

When they were settled back on the truck, Chapo suddenly asked, “Aren’t you going to pray first?”

Cochi smiled in bewilderment but Chapo simply said, “It’s alright. I’ll say the prayer for you.”

The kid made the sign of the cross and Cochi did the same. Chapo held the pendant, said the words that Cochi knew by heart but failed to utter. And when he said the ‘Amen’, Cochi repeated after him.

What happened next made Cochi feel something uncomfortably pleasant, something that made him want to do things he could never act upon.

Chapo kissed the pendant and held it out, expecting the other man to do the same. Cochi didn’t want to hesitate but his head was spinning so suddenly. He did it slowly, his eyes fixed on Chapo’s face. When Cochi’s lips finally touched the pendant, Chapo merely smiled, patted his chest, and told him, “Now, you’re blessed. Let’s go home.”

Cochi cleared his throat to mask the shudder rippling through his entire body. Chapo ignited the machine and drove off. Cochi struggled to contain himself but his erection eventually grew too stiff that he couldn’t hide it anymore. When Chapo saw it, he simply said, “You really miss Nena, huh?”

Cochi nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. It was weird. Incredibly weird. Cochi was never attracted to men, not even the good-looking ones. So why was he getting so hard?

“We can still turn back to Mazatlan if you want,” Chapo suggested.

“No, we have to report to Pedro before 7,” Cochi answered. He had experienced a lot of compromising situations but never like this. To escape the awkwardness, he yelled to the open window, “Next time, Nena!”

“Next time, Nena!” Chapo echoed.

Then Cochi played the radio once more and sang along. This time, Chapo started singing with him, their voices blending with the breeze. Thankfully, the heat in his blood started to subside but Cochi remained so light-headed that he didn’t even notice the time. It seemed like the sky simply decided to turn pitch black all of a sudden.

When they arrived at the villa, the boss said, “Chapo, you’ll sleep in Cochi’s room so that the two of you can get acquainted more personally. You may not be related by blood, but through me, he is like your uncle too. Treat him well, show him your respect.”

They ended up lying side by side on the same bed. Deep into the night, they talked about their lives, mostly about common relatives and such. The kid was nice, very kind and easy to talk to, laughs at Cochi’s lamest jokes.

As the night grew colder, Chapo fell asleep but Cochi remained awake. His dick was so hard and the culprit was snuggling close to him for warmth, his breath tickling Cochi’s neck. Having no other recourse, Cochi made the sign of the cross and prayed hard the way he hadn’t prayed for years.

Much to Cochi’s chagrin, Pedro was determined to put him and Chapo together as a team. Maybe it was because the boss saw their personalities to be complementary. Cochi was a trigger-happy fucker with a touch of crazy, but he was also easy-going and ready to take direction. Chapo was a shy country bumpkin, unassuming at first glance but a real smooth-talker, a natural leader hiding under the radar.

Cochi was resigned to make the most of it. Chapo’s kindly attitude and quick-wittedness was good for the business after all. He also shot everyone who attempted to cheat them – a real hard motherfucker like Pedro himself.

So in no time, Cochi managed to control those embarrassing erections of his and started really warming up to the kid. He still got hard sometimes, especially whenever Chapo gave him a new medallion or scapular and touched his neck before launching into a prayer. But Cochi fought his impure thoughts for the sake of preserving their friendship.

In just a year under Pedro Aviles’ wing, Chapo earned enough cash to finally have that wedding he had always dreamed of. It would be simple, not as extravagant as most people would prefer. Even so, Cochi could sense Chapo’s excitement, the joy in his every movement like he had a funny bone tickling him every now and then.

But there were also subtle hints of confusion, the look in his eyes whenever he stared back at Cochi like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Cochi didn’t even want to think about that so he simply shut his mouth and looked away.

That week, Cochi spent his day-off on his old family home. He was all alone with only portraits and guns for company, but the storm was so loud that he didn’t get the chance to feel lonely.

As the thunder boomed outside, he thought about getting a wedding gift for his friend. He wanted the thing to be a joke and a highlight rolled into one, something that would help Chapo’s tight budget and get him to laugh at the same time. He almost fell asleep thinking about his options.

All of a sudden, there was a loud banging at his door and it sure didn’t sound like thunder. Lazy as he was, Cochi got up slowly and sashayed his way, pistol in hand, until he finally pried the locks open. To his surprise, there was Chapo, drenched by the heavy rain.

“What the fuck! Come on in,” Cochi exclaimed, all his lethargy gone. He locked the door fast, mumbling, “The hell possessed you to drive through a storm like this?”

Chapo was quiet, seemingly nervous, so Cochi asked, “Wedding jitters?”

There was no answer and Cochi was getting worried. So he took a towel from a nearby rack and threw it over Chapo’s head. “What’s wrong, man? Talk to me.”

Chapo opened his mouth then closed it, quite unsure of what to say. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. Cochi couldn’t stand being idle in a situation like this, so he took the towel and gently rubbed the water out of Chapo’s hair.

The kid stared at the framed photographs, pretty things collecting dust on the wall. After a long while, he asked, “You’ve been widowed for a long time. Why don’t you get married again, Cochi?”

“Not feeling up to it,” he answered, pushing away memories of the past. “The fuck are you asking that?”

“I just…”

Then Chapo was silent again. Cochi didn’t want to pry any more than he was willing to share, but he couldn’t stand to see his friend looking so miserable. So he counted three streaks of lightning, then he sighed deeply and said,

“I was younger than you when I got married. We were just kids at that time, pretty irresponsible, but we were in love. So in love.”

Cochi took the towel and placed it on Chapo’s shoulders, then he combed the younger man’s hair with his fingers. 

“She had dark hair and dark eyes, my Lorena. Blushed so easily. Not the prettiest of the lot but she always made me smile just by being there, laughed at my stupid jokes, made me so happy, so very happy.”

It seemed as though his hands had a mind of their own and touched Chapo’s face gently. Cochi didn’t try to stop it anymore, didn’t attempt to mask his intentions any longer as his thumb drew a circle on his friend’s cheek.

Chapo was a smart kid with good reflexes. He could easily pull away if he wanted to, could shoot Cochi in the face for acting like a weird fuck. But he didn’t. He simply waited and listened, so Cochi continued,

“But life is uncertain. People kill each other all the time for the stupidest shit. Her brother killed my dad so my brother killed the fucker for it. The feud grew into a war. Most people on both sides were killed, including her.”

Cochi cupped Chapo’s chin with his fingers and smiled. “It was our wedding anniversary when I buried her. It felt shit. Don’t wanna get married again after that.”

Chapo stood up to meet Cochi eye to eye. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he breathed out, his eyelashes blinking away the rainwater. He was silent for a while then he said, “I don’t have a sad story like that and I do love my fiancée. So I don’t know why I’m having doubts right now.”

Cochi chuckled, his face getting closer that he could feel Chapo’s warmth rising from the cold. “Why don’t you pray? Ask some guidance from God and the saints. Get some clarity, hm?” 

To that, Chapo looked down but his hands went up to Cochi’s chest and touched the new medallion on his neck, the image of San Juditas Tadeo _._ When their eyes met again, lightning flashed on the sky once more and the rain grew heavier than before. Chapo made the sign of the cross but Cochi couldn’t wait for the ‘Amen’ anymore. He pulled Chapo close and sealed the prayer with a kiss.

He wanted to start gently, as gently as he could, but he ended up being a little too forceful. It’s been so long since he felt this way, so long that when the feelings came back, it went full force. Like a tidal wave that pulls the water so far away from the shore and then suddenly releases all of it in just one go.

So when their clothes fell onto the floor, some had been ripped apart, some buttons went off. The pistol fell under the table along with their pants and the metallic belt-heads gleamed each time it reflected the sparks of lightning.

The kisses went too deep, inappropriate for someone’s first time, but he couldn’t help it. Cochi couldn’t even remember how they were suddenly on the bed, their bodies touching so closely as his mouth savoured the sweetness of Chapo’s lips. His hands started to travel down, feeling every inch of his skin, taking in the warmth and being given warmth in return.

Chapo wasn’t tender or delicate like Lorena had been, not as curvy and juicy as Nena. He was young so he was a little less rough but he was a man through and through, sturdy and muscular without a woman’s softness. But Cochi was inflamed just the same, aroused in part by his shyness and blind faith on Cochi’s guidance.

And Chapo was nervous, so very anxious of this new experience that when Cochi’s mouth pressed onto something other than his lips, the prayers started,

_“Glorious apostle, Saint Jude Thaddeus, faithful servant, kinsman and friend of Jesus…”_

As irreverent as Cochi was, he did have enough respect for the saints, so he refrained from disturbing the prayer and opted to kiss the sides of Chapo’s face, his cheeks, his nose, his jawline. His hands went down further until he reached between his legs and felt the hardness therein. And he smiled, grateful that the feeling was mutual, so he started pumping him. Chapo gasped at the pleasure but kept on praying.

_“…universal patron of difficult and extremely desperate cases…”_

He must have reached a particularly sweet tempo that Chapo started to thrust into his hand, his prayers forgotten. Cochi kissed his lips deeply, kissed him again, and again and again. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he aligned their cocks together and rubbed them both as one.

Chapo threw his head back, tried to finish the _oracion_ but unable to do so, too engulfed by the sweet sensations flowing between the two of them. Since his friend had lost his concentration, Cochi continued the prayer for him,

_“Pray for me to alleviate my misery. Make use of your special privilege, I beg, to help me whose hope has almost been lost.”_

Holding Chapo in his arms, Cochi felt so strong as though the forces of nature were pulsing through him. As they rocked together, he felt as though the two of them have truly become one, blessed by the rain and the thunder in God’s holy name.

_“Come to my aid so that I may receive heaven’s consolations in all my needs, tribulations and sufferings.”_

When he finally climaxed, Cochi felt so shaken deep in his core, the sensations rippling through every vein and every muscle. From the way Chapo shuddered so sweetly against him, he knew that the feeling was the same. As they basked in the afterglow, they finished the prayer together,

_“Blessed saint, I promise to always remember your favors and will never stop honoring you, my special and powerful protector, and to do everything I can to extend your devotion. Amen.”_

They made the sign of the cross and lay side by side, still pressed so closely. No more words were said but they understood each other just the same.

All of a sudden, Cochi was once again overcome by feeling, so he pressed a kiss on Chapo’s lips and embraced him gently. To his surprise, he was suddenly pinned down the bed and Chapo kissed him back, clumsy and still grasping in the dark but very deeply, not just once but again and again until the younger man was satisfied. When finally sated, Chapo pressed his lips to Cochi’s cheek, then his neck and his shoulder.

The rain slowed down, the droplets falling more quietly than before. Their fingers remained intertwined for the rest of the night, and deep in his heart, Cochi hoped it would remain so for the rest of their lives.

On his wedding day, Chapo’s Badiraguato home was wreathed in white. Small tables were arranged on their front yard adorned by Mrs. Guzman’s dahlias and roses. Alejandrina held some of her mother-in-law’s flowers in a small bouquet, her arm intertwined with her husband’s as the photographer took a photo. Cochi was on the photos as well – he was the best man and as well as one of the wedding sponsors.

It was a simple but jolly affair. Don Pedro and the boys enjoyed the roasted pig that Cochi had contributed. They also laughed at his stint when he took Chapo’s hand and said on the microphone,

“Chapito, _mi hermanito,_ it’s our anniversary as partners and I believe it’s time to take our relationship to the next level. So take this ring as a token of my devotion and commitment, from this day onwards, till death do us part.”

As he slipped a second ring on Chapo’s finger, the people in attendance roared with laughter. Don Neto shook his head and murmured, “Trust this crazy asshole to turn a solemn occasion into a fucking joke.”

“Well, Cochi is Cochi,” Don Pedro chuckled before taking a bite of the pig’s crispy skin. “I’d be surprised if he didn’t do anything of this sort.” The boss stared fondly at the poppy fields at the side then nodded to the boys who immediately readied their rifles.

Much to everyone’s amusement, Chapo slipped a ring on Cochi’s finger in return, a nondescript golden band but too expensive for a mere jest. He stared back at Cochi’s eyes and repeated the words, “Till death do us part.”

Upon hearing the response, the boys fired rounds of bullets into the sky amid merry cheers and congratulations. When Cochi kissed the groom on the cheek and embraced him tight, nobody batted an eye, not even the bride.

Throughout the day, they held hands many times. It was quite funny how their understanding remained unknown to everyone despite being shown in broad daylight. Indeed, some secrets are best hidden in plain sight.

Their world was tough, violent, and sometimes downright confusing. A friend could suddenly turn traitor and shoot one at the back of the head, much like how Pedro Aviles suddenly turned up dead, replaced by a new boss, Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo.

As the coffin was lowered onto the ground, Chapo gripped his hand tight, uncertain of the future. Cochi didn’t ask about the details. He was just thankful that the kid’s life was spared.

When they finally left the cemetery, the sky was already dark and the stars shone carelessly over Pedro’s grave. Halfway down the road, Chapo abruptly stopped the car and disappeared somewhere. When he returned, he was holding a medallion, this time of San Miguel Arcangel. The choice of saint was quite ironic given the situation, but Cochi stayed silent about it.

Chapo handed him the necklace and Cochi quietly wore it, never said a word as the lights and the engine were turned off. And when Chapo’s face was suddenly nestled on his neck, all Cochi thought was that he forgot to wear perfume. He did take a bath though, so maybe he smelled good enough. Just to be sure, he sniffed his own armpit. But before he could really smell it, Chapo had pushed him back into the driver’s seat and climbed over him, his hands unbuckling their belts.

_“Saint Michael, Archangel, prince and leader of the heavenly armies, turn us away from the wickedness and snares of the Devil.”_

Cochi bit his lip as he felt Chapo’s hand on him, his eyes squeezed shut at the sudden pleasure. He felt the anguished resignation within his friend, the anger at his failure to protect a person he held dear. Pedro Aviles was a strict boss but he was also a good uncle. He gave Chapo the opportunity to climb the ladder, to be more than just a beaten boy selling weed under his father’s nose. The man was like a second father to the kid. But now he was gone just like that, like one small, insignificant wave in the ever-shifting sea.

_“With your favor, protect us. With your strength, defend us. Be our divine shelter so that may we advance in the service of the Lord.”_

Chapo was trying to cope with his grief without resorting to tears. And if playing with his body was his friend’s way of letting off steam, Cochi didn’t mind. So as the younger man squeezed on his cock and sucked hard on his throat, Cochi simply let his head fall back and continued to pray,

_“May we imitate your virtues every day of our lives, especially on the moment of death…”_

The prayer was interrupted every now and then, sometimes by Cochi’s moans, sometimes by Chapo’s tongue filling his mouth.

_“...so that we may be presented free from all guilt before the Divine Majesty. Amen.”_

He forgot some parts and went back to the beginning many times. But there was no other way – Chapo had to be comforted again and again but the prayer was too short. He had no choice but go back to the starting point.

Upon Pedro’s exit, the new management took over and Guadalajara became the seat of a new central authority. It made their business less chaotic, more stable. But it also meant that Chapo now worked under Miguel Angel and Cochi couldn’t see him that much anymore.

During the first months of the new regime, Cochi was lonely as fuck. But he simply kept quiet. He understood Chapo’s situation. The kid had a new boss to impress, one who gripped him by the throat to test if his life was truly worth sparing.

To divert his attention, Cochi turned his efforts to finish his fortress in Coquimatlan. He burned all of his old records, created a new identity to keep everything clean, and finally married a second time, this time to a woman who knew nothing of his true past. Now he was Pedro Orozco Garcia, a wealthy engineer and devoted family man who built roads and schools for the poor.

Life was good. Not exactly worry-free but with some semblance of peace nonetheless. But sometimes, when Cochi looked out from his terrace, he would remember the saint that he had lost and realize how alone he truly was.

The hollowness was unbearable at times. So whenever he felt those feelings creeping into his chest, he would drive to Nena’s seaside brothel in Marmol de Salcido, drown himself in alcohol, and fuck as many women as he could.

The place was alive despite the wee hours of the morning, the sound of the waves punctuated by the occasional laughter and the sound of beer bottles breaking. Cochi had passed out with a woman at each side of the bed, both of whom weren’t Nena. He was only pulled out of dreamland when somebody grabbed him by the shoulder and said,

“Wake up, man.”

Still half-asleep, his first instinct was to grab his gun and point it towards the motherfucker. But he was too late. The pistol was already taken and placed where he couldn’t reach it. He forced his eyes to open, rubbed at them for being too bleary. When his vision had finally cleared, there was Chapo.

“You alright, Cochi?”

His sobriety was still compromised, his brain not fully awake. But even so, Cochi pulled his friend into an embrace and whispered, perhaps a little too desperate. “ _Ay,_ Chapito _._ I missed you.”

Chapo placed a little kiss on his cheek in response. “Get up. Let’s go away for a while.”

Cochi was still unsteady when he got to the reception area, his entire frame propped up by Chapo’s hold on his waist. Nena looked at him with concern and asked, “You checking out, _mi amor_?”

He nodded at her and blinked groggily. He could have just imagined it but there was a particular look on her face that Cochi didn’t like, as though she had read between the lines. To assuage all suspicions, he pulled her to him, gave her a deep kiss, and said,

“I’ll be back next Saturday. Don’t miss me too much, _muñeca._ ”

Cochi didn’t know what happened next, just that he was on a car then on a bed, a familiar one. What was more familiar was Chapo’s hands and mouth moving all over his body. The sensations burned into his groin and forced him to gasp, moan and cry out loud. But he kept falling into a cycle of wakefulness and sleep as though in a never-ending dream.

When Cochi woke up, for real this time, he was back to his old house in San Ignacio. There was the scent of black coffee in the air so he followed his nose till he reached the kitchen. Chapo was pouring two cups, added some sugar on one and stirred it.

For a while, it seemed like a dream, the two of them in a quiet place far away from the cartel’s grasp. But as his fingers caressed the smooth surface of his pistol, Cochi knew that his wishful thinking was getting ahold of him again. He sighed, both dreamy and disappointed, then he asked Chapo,

“How did you get away?”

His friend gave him a bashful smile and replied, “I’m here on business actually. I asked Miguel Angel to let me handle the arms distribution so here I am.”

Cochi chuckled and shook his head. That was a nice alibi. He grabbed a chair, took the un-sugared cup and gulped it down, then he asked again, “You alone?”

“No,” Chapo answered. “But I left the boys at your woman’s place. They’re probably enjoying the girls right now so we still have a lot of time.”

“No, Chapito,” he said softly. “We don’t have enough time. So tell me, what do you want?”

Chapo was quiet and stared at him, perhaps a little frustrated at the kind of fate that men like them seemed to have. Cochi wanted to comfort him, tell his friend to simply accept whatever destiny has in store for them, go with the flow no matter how sordid or painful. That’s how one stays sane in such a fucked up world.

But before he could say anything, Chapo said, “I want to fuck you.”

Cochi laughed out loud, then he finished his coffee and replied, “Fine. Fuck me.”

When Chapo stood up and handed him a rosary, Cochi simply accepted it and closed his eyes. The younger man embraced him from behind, placed kisses on his cheek, then his neck, then his shoulder and back again, and then whispered, “You’re not gonna bargain to fuck me instead?”

Cochi smiled and fingered the crucified Jesus at the tail of the beaded necklace. “ _Ay, plebito,_ you’ll just insist your way until I give in.”

Chapo chuckled and hugged him so tight as if to make up for the time they lost. And before they unbuttoned anything, they recited together,

_“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”_

Romantics would say that sex was an act of love. War-freaks would say it was an act of dominance. The one doing the fucking conquered the one being fucked, especially when it's another man. Sicilia Falcon probably did the fucking, Cochi thought, because how could a _plaza_ boss allow his ass to be ploughed by some random gigolo?

But Chapo was no fucking _joto_. He was a hard man like Cochi himself – a remorseless killer, a fellow loyalist of the fallen Pedro Aviles, a friend who knew his deepest secrets, one to whom he could freely share his hopes and dreams. So when Cochi allowed the younger man to take him, he thought about the romantic side of it, of being taken by an equal who did it out of love.

_“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you.”_

Being filled by another man hurt a bit but Chapo made sure that the pain was minimal. He was a man with a plan, always made preparations for his every move. And when he did move inside Cochi, the pleasure was so unexpected.

_“Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb Jesus.”_

So as he gripped the edges of the altar, Cochi said his prayers haltingly, sometimes stopping altogether each time Chapo hit the spot.

_“Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners…”_

During their first time together, Cochi guided Chapo into it and the younger man followed him with a blind obedience. But years after that stormy night, the situation was reversed. Now, Cochi followed Chapo when he guided him to stand, allowed himself to be led onto the bed and had his legs be spread apart like a fucking woman’s as he was taken again.

_“…now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”_

He was careful to count the Our Fathers and the Hail Marys, his fingers moving through each rosary bead with precision. But as Chapo kept entering him again and again, his head started to spin and he kept forgetting which mystery he was supposed to utter.

“The fourth joyful mystery – ”

“No. Today is Sunday so it’s the glorious mysteries, Cochi,” Chapo whispered before gently biting his earlobe.

“Oh yeah, the glorious mysteries,” Cochi gasped. “Th-the fourth glorious mystery is the assumption – ” and he moaned as Chapo thrust into him, his cock reaching even deeper than before “ – of the Blessed Virgin Mary into heaven.”

“No, the second,” Chapo told him with a low chuckle.

Cochi turned to the rosary in his hand and saw that they really were on the fourth. But Chapo pointed at the opposite end and said, “You started right here so we’re still on the second.”

“Oh okay,” Cochi conceded. His legs were getting tired from being spread apart for too long, so he simply let them fall back on the mattress, let Chapo move them as he pleased. And Chapo did move his hands over them, his palms gently touching the exposed skin of Cochi’s inner thighs before he grabbed the curves of his ass and thrust hard.

“The second glorious mystery is – is the ascension of – of Our Lord J-Jesus Christ into heaven.”

They finished the Hail Holy Queen, completed the Litany and the prayer for special intentions. By the time Chapo pulled out, Cochi was sure that he was filled to the brim. But he didn’t mind. Chapo was so gentle with him, treated him so sweetly, _muy cariñoso_.

“Did I hurt you?” Chapo asked, wiping away the sweat from Cochi’s brow.

“Yeah,” Cochi admitted, “but it’s a good kind of hurt.”

His eyes were already closed so he couldn’t see the expressions on his friend’s face. But Cochi felt Chapo’s smile as kissed the side of his face. When Chapo finally lay on his pillow to rest, he took Cochi’s hand, kissed it, and never let go even when he fell into a deep sleep.

Cochi remained awake for a while, very grateful for the affection he had just received. He had never been loved like this before. Not even Lorena made him feel so desired and wanted.

Perhaps that was the advantage of having a man as a lover. Cochi’s women expected him to take charge, to take his pleasure, to give a lot of effort into the act. But with Chapo, it was different. Cochi was treated gallantly, so sweetly, and all he had to do was lie down and take it. Being on the receiving end wasn’t so bad, he thought with a chuckle.

So Cochi prayed once more, for real this time, to express his gratitude to the Lord for this unexpected blessing. But since he ditched the seminary a long time ago, he didn’t have the eloquence of a priest so he simply uttered what he had memorized,

_“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be thy name …”_

In time, Miguel Angel’s grip on Chapo loosened up completely. Whenever Cochi visited the central office, he was greeted by his friend’s delighted smile.

Don Neto didn’t look too delighted and he rolled his eyes when Cochi asked, “Can I borrow my Chapito for a while? I’m taking him out on a date.”

Rafa merely laughed at him, not understanding his true motives, and replied, “As long as you return him in one piece.”

To show their loyalty to El Jefe de Jefes, Chapo had booked the most expensive room in Hotel Americas –

_“Dearest Lady of Zapopan, we entrust to thy immaculate heart all our needs and petitions…”_

– and fucked Cochi hard on the king-sized bed.

_“…that they may be granted in accord to God’s holy will.”_

Cochi’s voice had gotten too hoarse from the screaming and moaning he had done. He couldn’t help it. It felt so good, not just the cock in his ass but Chapo’s mouth sucking on his nipples one after the other, the younger man’s one hand playing with his member while the other held Cochi’s leg open as he entered him so deeply.

_“Immaculate Queen of Guadalajara, hear our prayer for the conversion of our loved ones, our benefactors and our enemies…”_

He halted the prayer from time to time, opened his lips to receive Chapo’s kisses. His head grew very foggy each time Chapo’s tongue slid into his mouth, but afterwards, Cochi retained enough presence of mind to continue,

_“…grant us the gift of perseverance, make us grow more zealous each day in the practice of our Holy Catholic faith. Amen.”_

Chapo must have been really happy at that time that he came a lot. Cochi’s insides felt so warm that he commented, “That’s a lot, _compa._ You’re one fertile dude.”

“I do my best,” Chapo simply replied. “If you’re a woman, you’d be pregnant right now, like my wife.”

Cochi laughed and told him, _“Ay, hermanito,_ I already look pregnant even without a baby inside.”

Chapo giggled to that and rubbed his partner’s tummy, saying, “This is a beer baby, Cochi. You drink a lot.”

“I eat a lot as well,” he added with a chuckle.

“Doesn’t stop me from trying though,” Chapo told him, kissing Cochi’s chin.

“Trying to what?”

“To get you pregnant, Cochi.”

Chapo’s fat cock was suddenly pushed into him again. Cochi yelped in surprise and then laughed just as loudly.

“Motherfucker!”

He couldn’t count how many people he had killed, couldn’t even remember most of their faces. Brains splattered, limbs blown off, bodies torn apart beyond recognition. Cochi didn’t give a shit and kept on firing.

Sometimes, he did his job differently to live up to his reputation. There were those he buried alive, some he gutted with a knife, and some he crushed under a steam roller. Pretty horrible, but he was a crazy pig after all. _Cochiloco._

Reading the Bible taught him that one’s actions would eventually come back to exact some form of divine justice. But apparently, the Lord didn’t find him so evil. Because why would he be given so much love and affection if he was that bad?

Chapo held his hand gently, his fingers tenderly pressing on Cochi’s skin where the bullets had grazed. “That was close,” Chapo whispered, then pressed a kiss on his friend’s cheek. “I’m glad you got out.”

Cochi closed his eyes enjoying the warmth as the younger man embraced him tight. “Yeah, glad to be alive.”

_“The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary…”_

The Mazatlan office wasn’t very comfortable, didn’t have a nice bed or the best air conditioning system. But as long as they were together, anywhere was good enough. It was still so early and most people probably hadn’t gotten out of bed yet. Perfect for fucking, just in time for the Angelus.

_“And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.”_

Chapo’s hands were so warm, so were his kisses. Cochi was so drowned in the tenderness that he didn’t complain when he was bent over and taken from behind. He closed his eyes and prayed that this moment would last a little longer.

_“…may by his passion and cross be brought to the glory of his resurrection through the same Christ our Lord. Amen.”_

But deep in his heart, he knew his time would come the way it came for everyone else. The first who got burned was Sicilia Falcon, then Rafa and Don Neto, Pablo Acosta, then Miguel Angel himself. Some of them died, some went to prison.

In many ways, staying alive was worse than dying. Guero Palma escaped the bullets but the man was more dead than alive after receiving his wife’s decapitated head and his children’s drowned remains.

It was hell on earth, Cochi thought. But even in this world of eternal damnation, he had his piece of heaven holding him close.

* * *

“Seventy bullets,” Mayo told him. “The coroner stopped counting after that. His body is damaged enough as it is.”

Chapo felt a lump on his throat but he managed to swallow it down. He had seen this coming, had been conditioning himself to simply sigh and say ‘This is it’. But the pain still cut deep down his very core, such pain that he had never felt before in his entire life.

He warned Cochi not to do it. Even in Mexico, the Colombians had _sicarios_ lurking all over the major cities. But his friend wouldn’t have it.

_“Tijuana has taken Norte del Valle’s supply. The Gulf and Juarez are sharing Medellin and Cali. What do we have, compa?”_

Chapo had pressed his lips together, calculating what to say to convince his friend to back out from his plan, and then said, _“We have nothing right now, but Mayo’s already negotiating with Berna. Escobar isn’t the only supplier in Medellin. You don’t have to do this.”_

 _“No,_ _Chapito,”_ Cochi told him softly. _“While we wait for the fat-ass to make up his mind, we’re gonna starve. This is the only way.”_

In the end, Cochi did it. Their warehouses were filled with tons of cocaine without wasting a single _peso_ , cash flowed abundantly, and their operations started to stabilize once more. But no one gets away with stealing from Pablo Escobar.

Mayo opened his mouth to say something but he hesitated for a bit. In the end, he told Chapo, “His hand was blown to bits. All that’s left is this wedding ring but his wife said it’s not theirs. I would have kept it as a memento, but you’re better suited to have it. After all, you were closer to him than me or Guero.”

When the golden band was placed on his palm, Chapo’s pain grew even worse. Mayo looked at him tentatively, unsure of what to say or do. But Guero simply sighed, completely understanding the feeling; he waved everyone away, allowing their associate to grieve on his own.

And as soon as everyone left, Chapo took his rifle and fired onto the ground. When the bullets were exhausted, he took another round and another and another. But even then, his heart remained in so much pain so he started beating down the plants on his fancy garden. His fists started to bleed but he didn’t relent.

Finally, the tears started to fall and Chapo closed his eyes. He probably looked like a possessed motherfucker, his hair sticking out everywhere, his bloody hands painting the grass red. But his mind was wandering elsewhere, thinking what he could have said or done to stop Cochi’s final move that led to his doom. Instead, he remembered Cochi’s words on that one final night they spent together.

Coquimatlan was very quiet, even the wind seemed to be so gentle and sleepy. Cochi languidly drew circles on Chapo’s cheek and said,

 _“I understand the risk. But if you want to be a boss, if you_ really _want to be a boss, you have to do what it takes to climb to the very top and stay there.”_

Chapo’s jaw had clenched painfully and he grabbed Cochi’s shoulder so hard, pushed him further down the bed that the older man had to gasp in both pain and arousal.

 _“The boss, huh?”_ Chapo gritted his teeth. _“You’re the one taking the hit. The port is in your territory, Escobar knows that. Who do you think he’s gonna kill?”_

But Cochi simply smiled and answered, _“Me, of course.”_

Chapo blinked back his tears. If he couldn’t appeal to logic, perhaps he could appeal to his friend’s emotions, so he said, _“I won’t let you die, Cochi. I’ll hide you in one of my tunnels if I have to.”_

Cochi fingered his cheek once more and said softly, _“If he can’t get me, he’s gonna kill you or Mayo or Guero. I can’t let that happen either. You guys are my family.”_

Chapo didn’t know what to say anymore. The deed was already done and Escobar’s _sicarios_ had started prowling the streets of Guadalajara. Cochi was already a hunted man from the start, but this move earned him a new enemy, someone more poisonous than the corrupt government itself. Chapo could do no more but to embrace him tight and pray that his life would be spared a little longer.

Perhaps to placate him, Cochi kissed his hair and embraced him gently, and then he said, _“Oye, Chapito_ , _have you read the New Testament?”_

Chapo couldn’t answer anymore. He didn’t want to be to be a sobbing wreck. Cochi must have felt his shuddering, the desperation in his touch, so he continued, _“Romans chapter twelve, verse one. ‘On account of the Lord’s mercy, offer your body as a living sacrifice holy and pleasing to God.’_ ”

Chapo’s lips were squeezed shut, so were his eyes. He tried to loosen up his grip, not wanting to hurt his friend. But if he let him go now, there was a nagging feeling in his gut saying that he could never hold him this close again. He took in the older man’s scent, the warmth of his skin, the sweet fullness of his body.

Ever since the first time they met, he knew that Cochi was someone special. There was something about him that Chapo couldn’t quite put a finger to. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, the way he smiled, the green flecks of his eyes resembling Chapo’s cat when he was a boy. Maybe it was his scent, the natural un-perfumed one that Chapo really loved and would remember for the rest of his life.

When they started truly knowing each other, Chapo fell even deeper. Cochi was someone who gave him inspiration, a different kind of hope that didn’t just entail survival. Perhaps this was the love that his mother had told him about – kind, giving and true without expecting anything in return.

Chapo wanted this to last forever. He wasn’t like Job who could easily say, ‘The Lord gives, the Lord takes away, praised be his name.’ So he clung to him so tight, his tears flowing unashamedly.

Cochi didn’t complain and simply combed Chapo’s hair gently, whispering, _“This is my choice. I hope that when I’m gone, you’ll work even better to be the best that you can be. Don’t make the same mistakes as Pedro or Miguel Angel or the others that came before us. I trust you. I know you can do it. I believe in you.”_

Chapo knew that his friend was preparing him for what was about to come. But even then, the aftermath of his passing was still too painful. So, he remained in the garden for a while, grieving without a sound. When he finally stood up, his heart was so numb that Chapo wasn’t sure if it still existed. He took his handkerchief to wipe the tears away then tore it apart to bandage his fists.

When he was back to the _sala,_ his associates were waiting. Azul had joined them, talking about the recent tragedy that had just transpired. As soon as Chapo emerged, Mayo nudged Azul and the latter went silent.

“It’s okay,” Chapo said, his voice still a bit hoarse from being supressed for too long. “Any new info?”

Azul seemed to count from one to ten first, then he said, “Cochiloco was largely unidentifiable because of his new legal alias. The Colombians only got him because they were tipped off.”

Chapo nodded though he knew why anyone could have gotten the tip so easily. As much as he loved Cochi, his man had been too careless, never altered his appearance, never bothered to bring convoys of bodyguards as a standard protection. But Chapo’s grief was just too much that he would kill anyone or anything just to take off the edge.

“It was Tijuana,” Azul pronounced.

Guero’s jaw clenched and Chapo knew why. The Arellanos killed Palma’s wife, then his children. Now they had a hand in the death of a man who was like a brother to him. Guero gave a wan smile, his rage now opened anew, and he said so softly, “I’m going to kill Benjamin.”

Mayo simply nodded and turned to their final associate.

Chapo pressed his lips tightly together, his eyes still red and swollen in his grief, then he said, “This is war then.”

He took the ring he had placed on his necklace as a pendant, a simple golden band just beside the image of the crucified Christ. Then he kissed it and joined the other Sinaloa bosses. And in his mind, he said,

_“Cochi, wait for me. I’m on my way.”_

.

_fin_


End file.
